


The Language of Flowers

by ASongofSixpence



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: All your faves are thriving queer adults, F/M, Friendship, Fun Friend Antics, M/M, Marriage, Miscommunication, Navigating the emotional fallout of sleeping with your best friend, One Night Stands, The Zuka Club, The least sexy fic about sex ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 14:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofSixpence/pseuds/ASongofSixpence
Summary: There are three things that set up the month of May as one that will no doubt be full of trouble for Kaoru. For one, he and his brother need to finish designing a dress for up-and-coming actress Rino Isoya to wear at the Met Gala, which is happening on May 9th. Then, three days later, on May 12th, Tamaki and Haruhi will (finally) be getting married, and Kaoru can’t even begin to think about the kind of nonsense he will wholeheartedly commit to as soon as all of his friends are in the same room at the same time. Finally, and this is, admittedly, his own fault: he and Kyoya hooked up in the beginning of April, and he hasn’t spoken to him since.





	The Language of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> It feels very nostalgic to have written this. OHSHC was the first fandom I ever really wrote a BUNCH for (though that’s all on my fanfiction account and is… not good because I wrote it from ages 10-13.) Kaoru is a character I’ve always weirdly related to, so after re-reading the series recently I really wanted to write about him as a queer thriving adult, while maintaining the silliness of the original series. I still love these characters a whole lot. I just wanted to know they were doing well!

There are three things that set up the month of May as one that will no doubt be full of trouble for Kaoru. For one, he and his brother need to finish designing a dress for up-and-coming actress Rino Isoya to wear at the Met Gala, which is happening on May 9th. Then, three days later, on May 12th, Tamaki and Haruhi will (finally) be getting married, and Kaoru can’t even begin to think about the kind of nonsense he will wholeheartedly commit to as soon as all of his friends are in the same room at the same time. Finally, and this is, admittedly, his own fault: he and Kyoya hooked up in the beginning of April, and he hasn’t spoken to him since.

He doesn’t quite know why it had happened. Tamaki had asked the twins to design all the garments for his and Haruhi’s upcoming wedding, and the only time he’d been able to catch Kyoya to take his measurements was late in the evening. It was around 9pm, and Kyoya had just gotten off a plane from America. He was looser than usual, made inelegant by jet lag. He’d collapsed into a chair in Kaoru’s parlor and demanded coffee without so much as a sweet word. It had been exciting and terrifying to watch him be so openly foul-tempered. Kaoru had wished Hikaru had been there to witness it. If he had been they would have made a show of treading lightly around him, would have remarked on the unsettling display of his cold heart. Instead, Karou buzzed around him efficiently, nipping his measuring tape in here and there, making snide remarks about Tamaki’s ever-changing wedding local. Then, as Kaoru had leaned in to measure Kyoya’s chest, their noses had bumped.

He still not sure why he’d pushed forward, why he hadn’t just recoiled, but. He’d been curious. It seemed like it would be fun. And so.

Now it’s the middle of April and Kaoru is slumped across Haruhi’s office desk. Haruhi herself is reading a case file and, even though she’d promised to get lunch with him, seems to have forgotten he’s there. Kaoru thinks she’s giving the whole situation much less attention than it deserves.

“I don’t know why you’ve come to me about this,” she says after Kaoru’s fifth sigh in as many minutes. “Why do you think I have any advice on what you should say to Kyoya-senpai? Why not ask Tamaki?”

Kaoru huffs and tries to blow some of the paperwork off her desk. She lowers the file just enough to put her other hand on the errant papers and looks down at him expectantly.

“He’d be too weird about it! Tamaki still likes to think we’re his troublesome children. He doesn’t want to know I’m fucking Mommy.”  

Haruhi rolls her eyes at his language. “What about Hikaru then? I’m sure you’ve talked about this stuff before.”

Kaoru sits up and makes a noise that’s maybe a little too close to a whine. “We do, but he can get weird about things sometimes.” Hikaru is particularly weird when Kaoru is hooking up with someone he also knows. There’s a designer they run in similar circles with, Haman Faasil, who Kaoru has messed around with once or twice. Haman is one of those people that makes everything he says salacious somehow; It’s the way his dark eyes hold you in place, and how every word he says sounds like a dare. Hikaru still bristles whenever Kaoru brings him around but Kaoru has always been more cool-headed and knows how to play that kind of conversational chicken without being the first to swerve. The trick is to come back at him with the same intensity. Hikaru complains and says Haman just rubs him the wrong way but his brother is sweet and still doesn’t know how to admit that he’s jealous of sharing his time. He once said heatedly that he couldn’t imagine what the two of them are like in the bedroom. Kaoru had always thought he’d be surprised to know that their sex is mostly short and sweet and they spend the rest of their time doing each other’s hair and shit-talking the other designers, but when he eventually told him this Hikaru had made a face that clearly said he was annoyed at himself for asking.

“Anyway, it’s not just that,” Kaoru adds, “I’m looking for some of your Haruhi spirit.”

She looks genuinely puzzled, which is par for the course. “My spirit?”

“The way you cut to the heart of things.”

“Do I?”

Kaoru sighs again, this time because he loves her and she’s a genius but also because maybe her and Tamaki really are perfect for each other. She takes the pause as an excuse to go back to reading, and Kaoru relents, understanding that the conversation is over.

However, a minute later, in the middle of highlighting something, she says absently, “Kaoru, you have a habit of making decisions about other people’s feelings without letting them in on it. How about you just ask Kyoya-senpai how he feels?”

This is exactly the kind of wisdom he was looking for, but, “Haruhi, look at me.” She does, highlighter still poised. “You want me to ask Kyoya to talk about his feelings?”

She considers this. She puts the pen down. “Okay, well...”

The silence stretches out for a long moment, during which Kaoru searches her face and Haruhi searches the ceiling. Finally she says, “I think… maybe Kyoya-senpai does talk about his feelings. He just does it differently than most people.”

“What?”

Haruhi leans back and folds her arms. “Like how when Honey-senpai offers to share his cake with you, you know he loves you. Or how Hikaru only teases people he really likes.”

Kaoru nods. These are things he’s known, but never thought to put into words. “Or how when Haruhi takes the time to think about a person’s feelings, she must really care about that person.”

She looks annoyed, and makes a show of looking around the room.“What? Was that Hikaru’s voice I just heard? Kaoru would never say something so rude to me.”

He grins at her. “So I just need to figure out how Kyoya feels about us hooking up by reading his actions.”

“Right. Anyway, you have a distinct way of showing your love too, Kaoru.”

“I do?”

“You hyper-fixate,” she says, and stands up from her desk. “Now let’s go get lunch.”

 

The morning after Kaoru had slept with Kyoya he’d woken up to find the man still asleep. Kaoru had seen Kyoya asleep a couple times before this on account of the habit he and the rest of the Host Club had of showing up unannounced, but this was definitely the most intimate. It was disarming to see his body lax, his hair sticking straight up from his forehead, from so close. As Kaoru watched, Kyoya smacked his lips together in his sleep, and said, out loud, sternly, “No.” Kaoru almost laughed. He thought it was very Kyoya-like to be so assertive in his dreams. He tried to untangle their legs and move across the bed without waking the other man up. It wasn’t that he and Kyoya had fallen asleep holding one another, just that years of co-sleeping with his brother had left Kaoru with the habit of snuggling up to whoever he was sharing a bed with, even if he wasn’t conscious of it. It was sweet though, to consider that Kyoya might have woken up at some point during the night, but hadn’t pushed him away.

He’d just managed to put a substantial amount of space between them when an alarm on Kyoya’s phone went off, and Kyoya sat up to snatch it from the bedside table. He stared at it for a second, frowning blearly, before mashing a button and setting it back down. He ran a hand through his hair, and then looked around the room. Kaoru wondered what he was thinking as he realized where he was. If he’d count this as a loss or gain in the infinite internal ledger he seemed to keep. Eventually he must have felt Kaoru’s eyes on him because he turned and said, “I have an early meeting.”

Kaoru thought it must have been with someone important, as Kyoya usually scheduled all his meetings around his fucked up sleeping schedule. He rolled over and pressed a finger to the intercom on his bedside table.

“Have two breakfasts sent to my room. You can leave them at the door.”

By the time he rolled back over Kyoya was already up and out of bed.

“I’m going to use your shower,” he said.

“Be my guest.”

Kaoru watched him close the door to the en-suite, and waited for the sound of the shower running, before he allowed himself to start worrying. He jumped out of bed and ran into his walk-in closet. He wasn’t anticipating feeling so anxious once Kyoya was awake, but his complete lack of concern over waking up in Kaoru’s bed was somehow more nerve-wracking than any comment he could have made. He was struck by a vision of Kyoya turning to him and saying, “About last night,” and it was so alarming he tore a few shirts off their hangers and threw them onto the floor. Then he grabbed one of his loudest button ups—bright primary colors in a Persian mosaic tile pattern, from one of Haman’s lines actually—and put it on. There. That made him feel better. Kyoya would hate it.

By the time Kyoya was out of the shower Kaoru was already sitting in bed, eating from one of the breakfast trays, and trying to look nonchalant as he worked on his computer. He snuck a peek at Kyoya when the man leaned down to grab a piece of buttered toast off the other tray. He was wearing a grey suit with a navy tie. Kyoya usually went tieless, so Kaoru patted himself on the back for his earlier observation that the client was important.

“Who are you meeting with?”

“My father,” Kyoya said, neatly wiping a crumb from his mouth with the corner of a napkin.

 _Oooh, mmm,_ Kaoru thought.

Kyoya glanced at his watch, “Which means I can’t stay for breakfast.” He sat down on the bed to tie his shoes, his back to Kaoru, and then stood again. “I’ll see you soon. Let me know if you need any more measurements.”

“Okay,” Kaoru said.

Kyoya walked to the door, looked back at him, nodded, and then left.

And that was the last time they’d spoken to each other.

 

Two weeks pass before Kaoru dares to broach the subject again. This time he’s with Hikaru, in the basement of one of their company’s buildings, where they keep yards and yards of fabric on-hand. They’ve finally settled on a design for Isoya’s Met Gala dress, and have moved on to a phase that involves them picking up fabric and meticulously discussing each rolls various pros and cons. Currently Hikaru is pinning a clipping of blue velvet to a board next to a blown up picture of Isoya’s face, and a collection of several different color schemes they’re deciding between. It’s almost midnight, which means no one is around except the building’s cleaning crew, who occasionally pass by and pop their heads in the door to get a glance of the famous Hitachiin twins at work. Kaoru is sitting at a table across from Hikaru and trying his best to focus on the task at hand. He’s not doing that great a job.

“Hikaru,” he says, “what would you say my love language is?”

Hikaru turns around. He has three more pins held in his teeth and his brow is furrowed. “Whamf?” Kaoru leans across the table with his hand outstretched and Hikaru delicately spits them onto his palm. “What do you mean?”

“It’s something Haruhi mentioned to me. Just about…how we show our love in different ways.”

“You and me?”

“Kinda.”

Hikaru looks thoughtful but turns decisively back to his work. “Well, you worry about people’s feelings a lot.”

 _Am I a really annoying person?_ Kaoru wonders, exasperated. _Is this how people think of me?_

“Anyway, why?”

“No reason.”

The look Hikaru throws him over his shoulder is deeply skeptical, but he doesn’t press it. This makes Kaoru feel worse, because it means they both know he’s going to come clean in a couple minutes anyway. They’ve gotten better at living separate lives, but they’re not any more skilled at keeping secrets. Mostly because Kaoru finds he doesn’t actually want to, and he assumes Hikaru feels the same.

“Hikaru,” he heaves a breath. “I slept with Kyoya.”

Hikaru stops. Turns around. Stares at him. “Yeah,” he says, like it was obvious. “I know.”

“What— how? Did Haruhi tell you?”

He looks offended now. “You told Haruhi before you told me?”

“Well!” Kaoru searches for an excuse, but finds they all sound lame in his head. “Yes? I thought you’d be weird about it.”

Hikaru huffs and sticks a pin in the board with maybe more force than necessary. “As your older brother I’m allowed to have opinions about who you date! You don’t have to agree with them but I’m allowed to have them!”

“But how did you know?”

“I came over the other day, don’t you remember? I saw Kyoya-senpai leaving your place on my way in. I had a weird feeling that that’s what had happened, but then when you didn’t say anything I figured I was wrong.” He lets his gaze drop and turns away, over-dramatic. “Clearly I was operating under the assumption you would be honest with me...”

Kaoru, sensing eyes on them, as Hikaru must, gets up from the table and goes to tenderly touch Hikaru’s face. “I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to lie.”

There’s a scandalized noise from behind him, and the young woman who has come in to take out the trash stammers out an apology and flees the room.

They hold their lovelorn poses for a beat longer and then drop it. Old habits die hard, especially when they’re trying to ward away snoopers.

“Anyway,” Kaoru says. “We haven’t talked about it. And it’s probably fine, but. I still need to finish sewing his suit, and now it feels...”

“Significant,” Hikaru agrees.

“Yeah.”

“ _Hmm_.”

They stand and stare at each other for a moment, arms crossed. Their mother used to make fun of them when they were children and she caught them doing this, saying it looked like they were trying to read each other’s minds. They’ve just both found that sometimes the easiest way to figure out the solution to a problem is to read their own thought process on the other’s face. Normally they come to the same conclusion at the same time, which is why is surprises Kaoru when Hikaru says, “Did you have fun at least?”

Kaoru frowns. It _had_ been fun. That’s the thing he’s been avoiding admitting to himself. He’d hooked up with Kyoya because he thought it would be fun, and it was. Kyoya was as good at sex as was at everything else. He was responsive and adaptable; not a control freak in the way Hikaru and Kaoru had speculatively made jokes about in high school. And it wasn’t as if Kaoru was inexperienced. He had a few tricks up his sleeve and it was gratifying to learn which of those tricks made Kyoya lose his composure. He’d enjoyed himself.

So that’s what’s frustrating him about the whole situation. Kaoru had had fun. He’d even woken up the next morning and entertained the thought of doing it again some time, and now Kyoya is acting like it never happened.

“Yeah,” he says, and lets his weight change, rocking a step backwards. It moves him out of Hikaru’s parallel, puts them out of synch. Hikaru frowns at him, but of course he understands what it means: _let me process this on my own for a second_. He obliges his brother in a distraction.

“Anyway, did Mei-chan send you the pictures? They’re almost done sewing Haruhi’s dress.”

“Ooh, show me.”

And just like that Kaoru finds himself with more language to ponder with, but no closer to a conclusion.

 

The days come and go; Kaoru lets himself get distracted. He and Hikaru finally finish Isoya’s dress. The theme for the Met Gala this year is supposed to be a reflection on the breadth of work in the Met itself, and they’d decided to pay tribute to it’s Japanese Arms and Armor collection. The dress itself is deep red, and laid on top of it’s expansive train are hundreds of rectangular iron plates, painted gold and linked together by ribbon, made to mimic a samurai’s kusazuri. The headpiece they’ve designed looks like the crest on a helmet; a crescent moon sweeping up from her forehead. They’re both pretty damn pleased with it.

It’s in this way that Kaoru forgets his other obligations. It’s not until he comes home one night, buzzed on the bottle of celebratory champagne he and Hikaru had split after Isoya’s final fitting, that he passes by his office and sees the pieces of Kyoya’s suit sitting un-made in the moonlight. He picks them up. He moves them around on the desk.

Morning finds him cranky, his back aching, his fingers cramping— but the suit is finished. He hasn’t forgotten his worries about Kyoya’s feelings, about their friendship, about how he will see him in little over a week…but he’d worked all night in that room, in the thin light of the LED on his sewing machine, with no thoughts. At pause, with himself.

The suit is a light grey chambray, made for a spring wedding under cherry blossom trees. As the sun tips through his window and the house staff arrive for the day he finds himself hand stitching a rose into the lining of the breast pocket. Kyoya will likely never notice it, and no one else will see it, but it’s comforting to leave it there for reasons Kaoru can’t really parse. A reminder of their shared history, close to the heart.

He leaves a note for one of the maids to have the suit delivered to the Otori mansion. Then, he finds his bed and falls asleep.

 

His meditative state carries him through the week, to the point that he thinks that maybe he’s moved past the whole thing. People hook up with their friends all the time; either they’ll talk about it or they won’t. It’ll be fine, or at the very least, eventually forgotten.

Hikaru notices his mood change and seems very pleased. He doesn’t actually say anything about it, but Kaoru catches the look on his face as they get ready for the Met Gala. They’re both in their hotel bathroom, Kaoru brushing his teeth, Hikaru tying his tie, when Kaoru feels his brother’s eyes on him.

“What?”

Hikaru smiles serenely and leans over to ruffle his hair, which is annoying because Kaoru had just finished gelling it.

“Nothing!”

The red carpet walk is exciting, but not unfamiliar. While the Hitachiin brand isn’t as popular in America as it is in Asia or Europe, they’re still well known enough to be recognizable—as evidenced by the fact that they were invited to the Gala in the first place. Isoya is stunning in her dress, all cheekbone and angled shoulders, looking like she could kill a man if he thought at her wrong. The flurry of flashbulb lights that go off when she makes her way up the stairs is gratifying, and he and Hikaru smile along in their own practiced unison. The press eat it up of course; they’ve always known how to make an impact.

Once inside it’s easier to maneuver separately. Isoya goes to look at the exhibition with her date before dinner starts, and he and Hikaru catch up with some of the other invited designers. It’s not long before Kaoru spots Haman chatting with one of the Kardashians across the hall. As if he’d called his name aloud, the man’s eyes slip away from his conversation partner and unerringly find Kaoru’s. He smirks. Beside Kaoru, Hikaru groans quietly and mutters something about getting another drink.

He’s just managed to slink away by the time Haman reaches Kaoru. His look is more toned down than usual, with his dark hair slicked back and his maroon suit bringing out the warm brown of his eyes. The only nod to his usual glamour is his jewelry: a gold septum ring and a chunky gold necklace under the collar of his white shirt. As he approaches Kaoru he takes a casual glance at his watch.

“Not even an hour gone by and I’ve already scared off your brother. I think that might be a record.”

“He’s not as used to your teasing as I am.”

Haman blinks lazily. Kaoru understands why Hikaru is so put off by him; everything he does is so strangely sensual that it’s hard not to want to instinctively back away. It’s overwhelming to interact with someone who’s so unabashedly aware of their own effect on other people. But Kaoru is friends with a lot of overwhelming people.

“That’s a shame,” Haman says. “Since I’d love to tease him. Will I see you at my after party?”

Kaoru tilts his head and puts on a thoughtful expression. “I’ll see if I can make it. We might be busy.”

“I’m sure.” Haman smiles. “It’s at my place. You remember it.”

“I do.”

He glances over Kaoru’s shoulder. “It seems like your brother’s coming back. I’ll leave you two alone for now, lest I tip the odds.” He leans in to press a kiss to Kaoru’s cheek, though mostly what he does is brush his stubble up against Kaoru’s face. It makes the hairs on the back of Kaoru’s neck stand up, not unpleasantly. He’s sure Haman must wink at Hikaru as he does it, because he’s smirking when he leans back and glides away.

“Ugh.” Hikaru says loudly, coming up from behind. “I don’t get what you see in that guy.”

“He’s sweet,” Kaoru says mildly, taking the drink Hikaru has brought him. “You don’t like him because he reminds you of Tamaki, if Tamaki wasn’t an idiot.”

Hikaru gives him a look. “His being an idiot is the only thing that excuses his behavior, so I don’t see your point.”

“Well, Haman has a better butt than Tamaki. Also, we’re going to his party later.”

“UGH,” Hikaru says again, and Kaoru clinks their glasses together.

 

Despite his complaining, Hikaru seems to have fun at the party. They end up running into Cameron, an American designer they’d met at a different party in New York a couple years back and had gotten what  _some_ might have called irresponsibly drunk with. When she sees them her face lights up and she says, with the same American bluntness that had gotten them in so much trouble last time, “Hey, you two! Fuck, I _still_ can’t drink gin and tonics. Let me get you both a drink.”

They end up lounging in Haman’s living room with Cameron and the other friends she’d brought along. One of them is a Russian model named Alexei who speaks quiet accented English and keeps glancing shyly at Kaoru over his horn-rimmed glasses. As the night goes on the space between he and Kaoru seems to grow smaller and smaller, until they’re leaning up against each other and Alexei is absently fingering the end of Kaoru’s sleeve. Cameron, (bless her, he really has to remember to get her Twitter handle or something this time), brings up ditching the party to go and grab some food, and pointedly gives the two of them hugs goodbye as everyone else extracts themselves from the couch.

Hikaru glances back at him inquiringly and Kaoru blows him a kiss. Hikaru rolls his eyes and blows him one back, (sloppily, they’re all pretty drunk), and follows the rest of them out.

They sit in silence for a second. Not nervously, just letting the moment roll out between them, smoke-hazy and warm. Alexei’s hand brushes against Kaoru’s. Then he says, quietly, “Would you like to see my room?”

 

Alexei is staying at a hotel not too far away from Haman’s place. He hadn’t been at the Gala tonight, he explains on the way. He doesn’t do a lot of projects in America, but he flew out for a runway show and happened to run into Cameron. They’d worked together on a project before, and had kept in touch.

He and Kaoru are walking the couple blocks to sober up a little, but it’s freezing, and Kaoru is still wearing the suit he’d worn to the Gala. Alexei notices when he shivers and very galantely tries to tuck him under his arm, into his coat. They make their way to the hotel like that, giggling as they stagger together.

The room itself is fine; it’s a hotel room. Kaoru has half a mind to tell him that he should ask his agency for better accommodations next time, but then he turns around to see Alexei has already shrugged out of his heavy coat and is working on undoing his button-down.

“Let me help you with that,” Kaoru says, crossing back over to him. Alexei stills and leans forward obediently so Kaoru can loosen his tie, and Kaoru pretends not to notice the heat in the way Alexei looks at him. He discards the tie and then works the shirt buttons loose, delicately sweeping his thumb over the man’s Adam’s apple. Alexei swallows distinctly, then dips his head forward.

He’s a good kisser. Kaoru’s not necessarily surprised by this, but it is nice to learn. His hands come up around Kaoru’s shoulders to push his suit jacket off, and then linger around his waist. Kaoru allows himself to be walked backwards, towards the bed. Alexei pauses to remove his glasses, and the lamplight flashes over them, hiding his eyes for a moment. It makes Kaoru’s stomach drop. _Shit,_ he thinks.  _Oh. Right._

He tries to push the thought away, back to where it was hiding, but when Alexei turns back to look at him he must see it all over his face. He takes a step backwards.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Kaoru says quickly.

“I did…” He seems to be tripping over his English, uncertain, “something wrong?”

“No!” Kaoru says, shaking his head. He feels terrible. “You just…reminded me of someone. I think I have to go. It’s really not your fault.”

Alexei looks upset. “I said something…?”

“No, really.” He clasps Alexei’s hands in his, “you’re great. I’ll get Cameron to give you my number so we can get in touch next time we’re in the same place.” He lets go, pulling his jacket back into place. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Yes,” Alexei says, brow furrowed. He leans forward, and Kaoru holds still long enough to let him smooth his collar back into place.

“Thank you.”

Alexei nods and, a little awkwardly, holds the door open as Kaoru rushes toward it. “Have… a good night.”

Kaoru’s phone is out before he even reaches the elevator. The line rings three times, and then Kyoya clicks on.

“Hello?” He sounds bleary, distracted.

“Sorry for calling out of the blue,” Kaoru says, feeling abruptly foolish. He looks down the hall, where Alexei is giving him one last curious look.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh, no…”

The elevator doors slide open. Kaoru gives Alexei a wave goodbye and then steps in.

“Can you still hear me?”

“Yes.”

Kaoru stares up at the elevator ceiling helplessly. _Just speak!_ “Are we okay?”

“Hm?”

“Do you regret sleeping with me?”

No reply. Kaoru barrels onwards.

“You didn’t say anything afterwards and I’ve been worried about it since. I thought it was fun. _I_ don’t regret it at all. Unless I’ve ruined our friendship, in which case I regret it a lot. So _do_ you?”

Silence from the end of the line. He’d almost think Kyoya hung up, but if he concentrates he can still hear his breathing. He waits a beat. Then another.

“Okay,” Kaoru says, feeling gutted. “I get it. I’m sorry for bringing it up. I’ll see you…at the wedding.”

When he gets back to the hotel it’s to find Hikaru lying in one of the beds, drunkenly scrolling Instagram. He doesn’t look up when Kaoru enters, just says, “Hey, I had a great idea for our next line.”

When Kaoru doesn’t reply, he sits up. He takes one look at Kaoru’s vulnerable expression and seems to get it.

“Boo,” he says. And then pulls the blanket off the bed, wraps Kaoru in it, and goes off to make them both some tea.

 

The day of the wedding dawns bright and cool, with clear blue skies. A perfect day for a perfect spring wedding.

Haruhi takes one look at Kaoru and says, “you look terrible.”

“Haruhi!” Hikaru admonishes, throwing an arm over Karou’s shoulder. “That’s not a nice thing to say to a man with a broken heart.”

“Not your face, Kaoru,” she says earnestly. “Just the expression on it.”

“That’s not any better!”

Kaoru grimaces. He knows he looks like shit, even though he’s wearing enough makeup that it shouldn’t show in photographs. He’d barely slept all night, dreading seeing Kyoya in the morning. He hasn’t come across the man yet, but then again, he’s just arrived.

“Where are the others?” He asks.

“Getting ready in music room three.”

After months and months of booking and canceling venues, Haruhi and Tamaki had finally decided to get married in the place they’d first fell in love: Ouran High School. (Tamaki had also pushed for the top of Mount Fuji, or maybe even Bali, but Haruhi refused to get married anywhere she considered too ostentatious, and ultimately Tamaki would give her anything she asked for, the love-struck fool). It wasn’t too uncommon to rent Ouran as a wedding venue, though Kaoru had never actually seen one while he was in school. The Western-style ceremony would take place outside, in the cherry blossom garden, and then move into one of the ballrooms for the reception. He, Hikaru, and Mei were all to be her bridesmaids, with Kyoya, Mori, and Honey as Tamaki’s groomsmen.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready too?” Hikaru asks, frowning at her. She’s dressed casually in trousers and a T-shirt, face bare and hair undone. Haruhi shrugs.

“I still have _hours_ until the wedding. All I have to do is put a dress on, so why not be comfortable until then?”

Kaoru slides his eyes at Hikaru, who looks back at him with a smirk.

“Oh no,” Haruhi says. “Please don’t—!”

But they’ve already grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to the bride’s suite.

 

Kaoru does makeup while Hikaru is on hair. It feels just like old times, though Haruhi no longer struggles when they rag doll her into her dress, like she would have in high school. (She’s learned well). Eventually Ranka shows up with Mei, followed by Honey and Mori, and Haruhi sits there looking long-suffering as they all buzz around her, putting on the final touches.

After they’ve finished, while everyone is wiping their eyes and making soft cooing sounds at Haruhi, she locks eyes with Kaoru in the mirror.

“Kaoru,” She says intently, “Can you go and make sure Tamaki isn’t dreaming up some ridiculous last minute plans? You know him, the more nervous he is the more outlandish his ideas get.”

 

They’re using the third music room as the groom’s suite for old times sake, and when Kaoru gets there he’s unsurprised to find the door already slightly ajar. He pokes his head in, but when he sees it’s just Tamaki and Kyoya alone something makes him press back against the door, out of sight. He deliberates for half a second, and then leans back over and peers in just enough to make out the two of them.

Tamaki is looking at himself in the mirror, fretfully pushing his hair around on his head and pulling invisible wrinkles out of his pants. Kyoya is standing impassively behind him, but Kaoru can see his smirk in the mirror. Apparently Tamaki can too because he looks at him hopelessly, a fine tremble running through him.

“What’s this,” Kyoya says dryly, “getting pre-wedding jitters?”

“No,” Tamaki says, eyes as wide and shiny as a fish’s, and his mouth open and closing in a similar fashion. “No, I just. Kyoya. I’m so. Happy. I love… so much… I...”

Kyoya heaves a sigh louder than Kaoru’s ever heard from him, but damn if it doesn’t sound fond. “Yes, I know. Come here, you fool, your tie is crooked.”

Tamaki steps forward obediently, but continues to make vague wet noises with his mouth, “What about? Haruhi? Have you seen her? Is she?”

“Lovely as the day you met her, yes.” Kyoya says cooly, pulling Tamaki’s tie straight. “Don’t worry, I’ve made plans in the case something drastic happens.”

“Plans?”

But before Kyoya can extrapolate Hikaru bursts around the corner and calls Kaoru’s name, effectively ruining his hiding spot. Kaoru doesn’t have time to be annoyed because the next thing out of his mouth has everyone’s attention anyway.

“Kaoru! Haruhi’s been kidnapped! Haruhi’s been kidnapped by the Zuka Club!”

 

He explains as they run back to the bridal suite: Mori, Honey, and Mei had stepped out to go admire the many cakes set up in the ballroom they’re using as a reception area while Hikaru put the finishing touches on Haruhi’s hair. Then, there was a knock on the door, which Ranka answered, still misty eyed and softly warbling things about his baby girl growing up. The last thing Hikaru remembers is Ranka saying, “Oh, it’s you three,” and then he was knocked to the ground from behind. When he got up, both Ranka and Haruhi were gone.

“They hit you?” Kaoru demands, incensed.

“Well, with pillows,” Hikaru allows sheepishly, “but it caught me by surprise.”

“Are you quite positive it’s the Zuka club?” Kyoya asks. He’s keeping up behind them, not quite running, but with a brisk and efficient walk.

“Yeah, because—” but Tamaki has sprinted ahead, slamming the door open so hard the frame cracks, and Hikaru doesn’t need to finish his sentence.

Scrawled in pink lipstick on the mirror Haruhi had been sitting in front of not ten minutes previous are the words: WE HAVE TAKEN THIS FAIR MAIDEN AND ARE FREEING HER FROM YOUR MISOGYNISTIC CONTRACT. ALSO, HAVING A WEDDING BOUQUET OF ALL ROSES IS BOORISH AND OVERDONE. Accompanying it is a not-unimpressive drawing of a lily.

“Haruhi was the one who chose the roses,” Kaoru says dryly.

At the same time Tamaki wails, “My Haruhi! Those lesbians have taken her away forever!” He turns to them, tears pouring down his face. “And they… Kyoya… her dress.. they saw… Haruhi’s purity! Her beautiful white dress!”

“We’d all seen it anyway,” Kyoya says, already turning away with his phone to his ear. “I’ll have Tachibana and the others shut down the perimeter. Hikaru and Kaoru go find Mori-senpai and Honey-senpai and let them know what’s happened. They can’t have gotten far with both Haruhi _and_ Ranka-san, someone would have noticed.”

They both give him a short salute and rush off, but Kaoru can still hear when Tamaki says tearfully, “W-What about me?”

“Quit crying. It’ll rub all your makeup off and we’ll have to wait another hour till you’re happy with it again.”

 

Mori and Honey are informed in short order, and they sprint off together to search the hedge maze. Hikaru and Kaoru take to the ground floor library, calling Haruhi’s name and looking under tables and chairs that could not possibly hide all five people. It’s not until Kaoru sees the grin on his brother’s face that he realizes it’s reflecting his very own.

“Hey,” he says. “This is fun.”

“Like the old days,” Hikaru agrees.

They beam at each other for a second. And then they hear a distinct muffled yelling coming from behind one of the shelves a few rows down.

“I thought you checked there!” Hikaru says.

“I thought you did!”

When they round the corner it’s to find Ranka on the floor, tied up in a curtain with tape on his mouth. His hair, which had been perfectly quaffed and curled earlier, is a mess, and when Kaoru rips the tape off his mouth he says, “Those girls are awful! They ruined my lipstick!”

“We’ll get you more,” Kaoru says soothingly.

“Where’s Haruhi!” Hikaru demands, untying Ranka’s arms.

The man sits up and huffs. “I don’t know! They just stashed me here and rushed out of the room! Let me just say I think it’s very bad luck to treat the father of the bride this way!”

Kaoru puts his hands on the man’s shoulders and looks him dead in the eyes. “Ranka, this is important. Are you sure they didn’t say anything about where they were going?”

Ranka looks surprised by his intensity, and then his eyes grow serious. “Well, now that I think about it they mentioned… something about music?”

“The music room?” Kaoru stands up, exasperated. “But we were just there!”

“That’s so stupid!” Hikaru says.

“That’s so smart!” Kaoru agrees.

“ _That’s the last place we’d look!_ ”

They both pull Ranka to his feet and hurriedly steady him. “Go find Kyoya and tell him where we’re going, he’ll have a plan.”

“Oh, okay, but—” The twins have already turned away and are racing to the door. “What will you two do?”

They glance at each other and pause in the doorway to flash Ranka a double thumbs up. “ _Get Haruhi back!_ ”

 

Kaoru and Hikaru barrel through the door of the third music room. The picture that greets them is basically what Kaoru had expected. Haruhi is sitting near the mirror Tamaki had been preening at about twenty minutes prior, the look on her face the identical mix of annoyed and bewildered she used to wear whenever the Host Club would catch her up in some new scheme. The Zuka Club are standing around her, and Benibara seems to be in the middle of some monologue, but they all startle at the sound of the door slamming open.

“HEY, YOU STUPID LESBIANS,” Hikaru shouts, neither of them slowing down as they hurtle toward Haruhi, “GIVE HER BACK.”

“Hikaru,” Haruhi chides, annoyingly calm as usual, “that’s not very—.”

But that’s as far as she gets. Kaoru jumps on Benibara’s back at full force, and the woman topples unceremoniously forward. Both Chizuru and Hinako cry out in indignation, and in the confusion Hikaru sweeps Haruhi to her feet and throws her toward the door. She totters clumsily in the chunky white heels they’d forced her into, and then looks back at the two of them, uncertain.

“Run!” Hikaru urges.

Kaoru flashes her a peace sign from where he’s laying on the floor to show that he’s alright, and her expression resolves into one of determination.

“Right!”

 _Haruhi’s getting all caught up in it too_ , Kaoru thinks fondly as she runs out of the room. The person he’s laying on top of starts to wiggle angrily, so he rolls off of her.

“You can’t possibly think we’ll give up so easily,” Benibara scoffs, sitting up and straightening her clothes. She’s wearing a suit and tie that are, quite frankly, tailored incredibly. Kaoru wonders who she goes to. He stands, and likewise the rest of the Zuka Club clamber to help pull Benibara to her feet.

“Haruhi’s clearly not being forced to get married,” Hikaru says, coming up to stand beside Kaoru. “As I’m sure she told you. So why don’t you fuck off.”

Hinako huffs. “It’s our sworn duty to protect maidens.”

“Especially when they’ve been brainwashed like this one,” Chizuru agrees.

“And who are you to stop us, anyway?” Benibara adds, voice low. She’s taller than Kaoru, which he feels acutely as she leans over him. “Just the two of you?”

“Actually,” a small voice pipes up behind them. “There’s four of us!”

Kaoru doesn’t need to turn around to see that Honey and Mori have come through the door behind them. Hinako asses the situation and puts a slender hand to her forehead.

“Brutes! Would you go so far as to attack a woman?”

A shadow falls over her face as Mori comes to stand next to Kaoru. “We don’t have to attack anyone,” he says in a fit of uncharacteristic verbosity. “Haruhi’s getting away.”

The proceeding beats go by so quickly that Kaoru isn’t sure what order they happen in. All he knows is that the Zuka Club all attempt to lunge past them simultaneously: Hinako darts around Mori, Benibara pushes Kaoru to the ground, knocking Hikaru over in the process, and Chizuru leaps over them both with an impressive pirouette. Honey hits Hinako with a flying kick, which…maybe is a little more violent than necessary, and she falls prone, but both Benibara and Chizuru are able to clear the room.

Mori, (who probably could have stopped them, but maybe didn’t want to hit a woman? It’s so hard to tell with him), helps Kaoru to his feet. “You should run too,” he advises. “We’ll follow behind.”

Hikaru stands up next to him, rubbing his back. “Wouldn’t you be faster?”

“Yes. But we should check on her.” He nods to where Honey’s crouched, nonchalantly poking at Hinako’s body.

Honey smiles brightly. “I haven’t done that in a while! Guess I don’t know my own strength!”

“ _...Right_.”

 

And then they’re sprinting down the hall again. Though now Kaoru’s knees are aching from hitting the ground so hard earlier, and their suits are no doubt wrinkled beyond repair. He can hear Benibara’s galant voice echoing from up ahead.

“Please maiden, you can’t have thought this through!”

And then Haruhi’s panting, not as far away as Kaoru would like, “Why…are you guys…always like this…”

“Run faster, Haruhi!” Hikaru shouts.

“Shut up! It’s these stupid shoes!”

Kaoru shakes his head, indignant. “Don’t blame our shoes on your lack of endurance, you’ve never been good at PE!”

They’ve caught up enough now to see the look Haruhi throws over her shoulder. Benibara and Chizuru are both gaining on her at a frightening speed.

“Shut—ah!”

Out of nowhere, a black-suited arm pops out of the doorway Haruhi was about to pass by and drags her into the classroom. The door slams shut, doorknob rattling as Benibara furiously attempts to turn it.

“Who—?” She demands.

Hikaru grabs the back of Kaoru’s jacket and pulls, urging him to keep running. “We can get to that classroom from the outside,” he hisses. “I bet whoever it is is taking her through the window.”

 

The party outside is far more chaotic than they’d left it. The hundreds of guests seem to have noticed that the bride is missing, and the majority of them are wandering around, looking a combination of worried and excited. Kyoya must be working damage control, because there appear to be twice the number of servers floating around as before, handing out champagne and canapes with an almost extraterrestrial efficiency. Several people attempt to stop the two of them and ask them what’s going on as they streak through the crowd, but they push past. They are, _technically_ , dealing with the problem. The one person who does manage to stop them is Tamaki, who’s standing in the middle of it all looking overenthusiastically tearful.

“Did you find her?”

“ _Yes_ ,” they say.

“Follow us, Milord—,”

“She’s just beyond the—.”

A horrible noise swallows up the rest of Hikaru’s sentence, and they all wheel around, stunned. A helicopter, branded with the Ootori security force logo, rises from the treeline, by the classroom they’d been heading towards.

The first person Kaoru is able to make out is Ranka, leaning out of his seat and gazing at the party below. When he sees them he sticks out his tongue, a message Kaoru doesn’t understand until the helicopter dips slightly and is fully illuminated by the lights of the party: Haruhi is there too, incandescent in the light, perfect hair whipped out of place by the wind, her white dress aflutter. There’s color high in her cheeks—she’s clearly embarrassed by the spectacle of it all—but she’s genuine when holds a megaphone up to her mouth, throws her hand out, and says, “Tamaki! Come here! Grab the ladder!”

“Haruhi!” Tamaki says, eyes all alight. His speechlessness lasts long enough that Hikaru gives him a good kick in the back and then he’s sprinting towards the rope ladder someone has dangled off the side of the helicopter, crying, “I’m coming, Haruhi!”

“Yes,” she says, quieter now, “I know. You don’t have to be so dramatic.”

When the beat of the helicopter blades are distant enough not to be heard, a strange quiet falls over the remaining guests, equal parts impressed and confused. It’s only broken when Hikaru grabs a glass of champagne off a stunned server’s platter and shouts, “Well, let’s party!”

 

And they do, with great enthusiasm. Half of the guests are girls they know from their hosting days, and it’s easy to slip into old rhythms; floating from group to group with Hikaru at his side and dropping the occasional salacious comment when they feel the conversation needs a little spicing up. After the first couple hours it becomes clear that the bride and groom aren’t returning anytime soon, and the older guests—mostly business partners, or people who were there for political purposes—start to trickle out. It just gives the rest of the partiers reason to get drunker and louder; children of the rich and famous, now grown, reliving the carelessness of their high school days.

Eventually the heat of the ballroom gets to Kaoru’s drink-addled brain, and he untangles himself from the man he was poorly waltzing with (Renge’s new husband? He thinks?) and escapes to the balcony to get some fresh air. It’s a comment on how much he’s had to drink that it takes the sound of someone clearing their throat for him to realize he’s not alone.

Kaoru turns to whoever is standing at the other end of the balcony, and then freezes when he’s sees it’s Kyoya. He considers turning back inside, but that would make things impossibly more awkward, so he just sticks a hand up in a terrible attempt at a casual wave. The corner of Kyoya’s mouth ticks up.

“Having fun?” He asks.

Kaoru shrugs, uncomfortably aware of how warm his face is, and crosses over to him. “It’s quite a party. Have you heard from Tamaki?”

Kyoya nods. He has a flute of champagne in one hand, and had been texting with the other. As Kaoru watches he unlocks the screen and scrolls, looking for something. “They just left Mount Fuji.” He holds the screen up so Kaoru can see what’s on it: it’s a picture message from Tamaki, a selfie of he and Haruhi, both windswept and smiling at the top of the mountain. Tamaki has stuck about twenty heart stickers onto the image.

Kaoru laughs loudly, without meaning to. “Did you have that helicopter here for that reason? Was there ever going to even _be_ a wedding?”

“I set up certain precautions in case there needed to be a change of plans, yes, but it wasn’t my intention to sabotage anything.”

“Right,” Kaoru says wryly. Then he tilts his head, something occuring to him for the first time. “But, how did the Zuka Club even know the wedding was today? Tamaki wouldn’t have invited them.”

Kyoya is silent for a moment. He tips his champagne into his mouth. “How indeed?”

Kaoru stares at him. Suddenly all he can think about is seven years ago when Haruhi had her first kiss under this very balcony. Hadn’t Kyoya said something then? How an accident would make the evening more exciting?

“It was you,” he says. “You invited them because you wanted us to fool around and have fun like we used to.”

“Hm,” Kyoya says, staring off into the dark. “An interesting notion. Perhaps I mentioned the upcoming wedding during my meeting with one of Benibara’s clients, but I couldn’t say. I certainly didn’t go through the trouble of arranging anything on purpose.”

Kyoya’s face betrays nothing, but there’s a flicker of mirth in his eyes. Kaoru shakes his head slowly, because he gets it now, what Kyoya is trying to say when he plays coy like this. He gets it, now that he’s listening.

“You’re really… so cute sometimes.”

Kyoya turns and frowns at him. “Bold of you to say that to me again.”

“Well, you can’t threaten me with running laps around the school this time.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Kaoru laughs, even though Kyoya’s expression is sour. He feels lighter suddenly, and it gives him enough courage to say what he’s been ruminating on for the last three days.

“I’m really sorry for calling you the other night. I...I was just anxious, and it made me act without thinking, I get that you don’t want to talk about it.”

Kyoya blinks at him, frowning in a different way now. One that Kaoru doesn’t quite understand. Then he says, “You called me?”

Kaoru feels his face start to flush, a bad look on him. “Of course, right, you don’t want to...I’ll just go. Let’s pretend this never happened.” He turns quickly, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Kaoru,” Kyoya says evenly. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I woke up with my phone under my ear the other day, but I didn’t think anything of it. Did we speak?”

“You…” Kaoru turns back, mouth agape. “You…you fell asleep. That’s why you stopped talking. You were asleep.” A helpless, drunk, giggle, escapes him, and Kyoya’s eyebrows crease.

“What did we talk about?”

“We, _oooh_.” Kaoru ducks away from Kyoya’s hand, still grinning. “I don’t know if I want to say anymore, senpai.”

Kyoya rolls his eyes. Kaoru hasn’t called him senpai since they graduated, and he clearly has no patience for his sudden coquettishness.

“Well, clearly whatever it was, it was bothering you.”

“Nope,” Kaoru says cheerily. “As long as there’s nothing about our recent encounters that’s been bothering _you_.”

Kyoya gives him a dry look. He’s can be so fun when he’s annoyed, Kaoru thinks. “If you’re talking about us having sex, I can’t say I’ve been particularly bothered by it, no.”

“Excellent,” Kaoru says with a grin. “Maybe not bothered enough for another round? I swear I won’t call you in the middle of the night afterwards.”

Kyoya snorts, and then walks past him. When Kaoru doesn’t follow immediately, he opens the door and gives him a look.

“Yes, Kaoru, I’d say not bothered enough for that. Now shall we go inside? Tamaki and Haruhi will be back soon.”

Kaoru smiles and taps Kyoya playfully on the chest, right on the breast-pocket, where he’d sewn the rose.

“Sounds great.” He says, and they walk in together.  

**Author's Note:**

> As A Gay(tm) I love The Zuka Club and like to think Kaoru and Benibara ultimately have that mlm/wlw solidarity, BUT sometimes you gotta tackle a bitch to save your friends wedding. 
> 
> Find me on twitter [@squaasha](https://twitter.com/squaasha/) or tumblr [@starfleetofficial!](http://starfleetofficial.tumblr.com/)


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